


Unspoken Words

by orderlychaos



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Clint and Phil need to learn to communicate, Clint gets captured, First Time, Get Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, mentions of serious injuries and torture, unspoken feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-03
Updated: 2013-11-03
Packaged: 2017-12-31 08:48:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1029710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orderlychaos/pseuds/orderlychaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em> Clint Barton blinked slowly, the sound finally filtering down through the layers of pain and cold surrounding him.  His entire world had narrowed to the point where there was no sense of time, no awareness of the days drifting past.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Clint gets captured, but this time, the thought of losing him prompts Phil to finally do something about the feelings that have been building between them for so long.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just a note that the torture in this fic is off-page, but it and the injuries are discussed. If you want to skip this, feel free to go straight to chapter two for the sexy bits.
> 
> Thanks, as always, to Henry and Yakkorat who are amazing <3

Gunfire.

That sounded like gunfire.

Clint Barton blinked slowly, the sound finally filtering down through the layers of pain and cold surrounding him.  His entire world had narrowed to the point where there was no sense of time, no awareness of the days drifting past.  There was only the sheer agony of breathing, the stabbing ache in his arms and wrists, the fire in his shoulders and back.  Those fixed points were the only constants, the only way Clint could tell that he was still alive.  The pain governed everything.  Clint could still feel the sticky, warm trails of blood dripping down the ravaged skin of his back, soaking into the tattered remains of his pants.  They’d whipped him -- beefy men with cold, cruel eyes -- splitting open the skin of his back with each lash, but Clint hadn’t said anything.  He hadn’t uttered a word, no matter what they’d done to him.  It might have been easier if they’d asked him questions, but they hadn’t and all Clint had been left with was the bite of the whip and the clench of his muscles as he held back his screams.

When Clint’s legs buckled underneath him, he cried out at the wrenching agony that flared across his shoulders and screamed across his back.  The weight of his body dragged him downwards, the metal cuffs around his wrists biting into his skin and the sudden pressure on his chest stopping Clint from drawing in a gasping breath.  He choked, suffocated by the chains hanging him from the ceiling and the dead weight of his weakened body.  Using almost all of the stubbornness he had left, Clint carefully regained his footing, pulling his body up by his arms as much as he could so he could suck in a shuddering breath.  He was so _weak_.  The hunger had become less important a while ago -- maybe days, maybe longer, Clint couldn’t tell -- buried under the agony that saturated everything and stealing the little strength Clint had left.  In his more lucid moments, Clint knew he’d been there for fewer than three days, because he hadn’t died from the dry, cracking thirst yet, not matter how much it might feel like he had.

Gunfire erupted again, closer this time, the sharp, piercing sounds echoing through Clint’s skull.  Barely able to lift his head, Clint couldn’t watch the door -- all he _could_ do was hang there and wait, useless and broken, his feet barely holding himself up and stopping him from choking.  If the beefy thugs were the ones coming for him to dispose of the evidence of their interrogation, Clint hoped they ended it with a quick, clean headshot.  Given the choice, however, Clint would prefer to cling to the belief that the gunfire was the result of two determined, remarkable people who were coming for him.  He didn’t have much left that he believed in, but Clint was going to cling to that with everything he had left.

There was a muffled shout and several gunshots outside the door to his cell.  Clint blinked, wanting to do something, to move, to fight, but he couldn’t.  The sound of a small explosion jolted Clint in his chains and he gasped, barely holding onto his balance as acrid smoke filled the cramped room.  The door burst open a second later with a loud screech of twisted metal and Clint heard the soft scuffs of familiar boots crossing the cracked concrete floor.

Tasha.

“I’ve got him,” she said quietly and the sound of her voice had Clint closing his eyes on a sob.

She was across the room in seconds and Clint glanced up through his matted, dirty hair, desperate to catch a glimpse of his partner.  He almost smiled when the toes of her black combat boots crossed into his gaze and stopped right in front of him.  Gently, Natasha’s hands came up to cup his face, the material of her gloves rasping against his stubble.  “Clint,” she whispered, her green eyes bright.

“Hey Tash,” he croaked with a ghost of his usual smirk, the words barely audible.

Carefully, Natasha reached up to brush the hair off Clint’s forehead, her sharp eyes cataloguing every cut and bruise.  For a second, she closed her eyes and touched her forehead gently to his, reassuring herself that she’d finally found him.  “We’re going to get you out of here,” Natasha told him as she pulled back, her voice fierce.

Clint almost pitied anyone who got in her way.  “Trust… you,” he murmured as he watched Natasha’s eyes tracked the chains stringing him from the ceiling.

Behind her, Clint heard the sound of someone else entering the room, but even so, he couldn’t stop the soft whimper as Natasha’s hands slipped from his face.  He hated that he couldn’t hold his head up on his own, that he couldn’t see.  A second pair of hands, also covered in gloves, reached out to gently catch his chin and Clint jerked, not knowing who it was.  Fiery pain flared across his back at the movement, driving a cry from Clint’s throat.

“Easy,” Phil Coulson’s soft and achingly familiar voice said.

Shocked, Clint let Phil raise his face, his eyes flicking over the black-on-black tactical uniform pulling tight across Phil’s muscled form instead of his usual suit.  Clint had _never_ once doubted that Phil and Tasha would come for him if they could -- he’d had moments where he doubted they would come in time, but he’d never doubted that they’d come.  What he hadn’t expected was that Phil would lead the assault team instead of coordinating the mission.  Yet, here he was, armed to the teeth like the Ranger he’d once been, a splash of blood bright against the skin of his neck.

Clint swallowed, his dry throat spasming.  “Phil,” he croaked.

“We’re here,” Phil said.  “We’ve got you, Clint.”

Phil’s eyes were wide and so very blue.  His fingers were shaking almost imperceptibly against Clint’s jaw and if Clint didn’t know exactly how much it took to shake Phil’s steely calm, he would have said Phil was _scared_.  Trying to smirk, Clint opened his mouth to say something in reply, but Phil cut him off by sliding his thumb across Clint’s swollen bottom lip.  “Just…” he said, before he cleared his throat.  “We thought you were dead, Clint.”

Clint’s eyes went wide at the admission.

“I’ve got it,” Natasha said quietly and Clint wasn’t sure exactly what was going on, but at the rattle of the chains above him he braced himself for pain.

Phil’s hands moved to his hold under his arms, but as Clint was lowered back to his feet, his legs gave out.  Phil scrambled to catch him before he could hit the cold concrete floor, Phil’s fingers digging into the raw wounds on Clint’s back and wrenching a low, sharp cry from Clint’s lips.  Red-hot agony burst across his back, drowning out whatever Phil was saying and by the time Clint could blink back the pain, he was lying on the cracked concrete floor, half sprawled across Phil’s lap while Phil whispered apologies against Clint’s temple.

Sucking in a deep breath for the first time in _days_ , Clint stayed where he was for a minute, inhaling the scent of cordite, sweat and the trace of mint that was _Phil_ , his face pressed a little awkwardly against Phil’s tac vest as he tried to soak up Phil’s sheer strength.  Phil’s now glove-free hands were resting carefully on Clint’s hips, his fingers ten points of burning heat on Clint’s chilled skin.  Clint could feel the faint stickiness of his blood on Phil’s hands and there was probably some sort of irony to that, but right now Clint didn’t care.  He was just insanely grateful that Phil and Natasha had found him.

Glancing over at the door, he saw Natasha standing guard in the doorway, her sharp gaze flickering around the corridor beyond, before darting back to Clint.  When she saw him watching her, she gave a small nod.  “I’ll clear us a path,” she said, barely waiting for Phil’s acknowledgement before she vanished into the darkness.

Clint moved to push himself up on shaking arms, but Phil’s grip tightened on his hips, stilling him.  Giving up, Clint settled his weight more firmly on Phil and let the other man hold him for a while.  “Stop… apologising,” he muttered when Phil wouldn’t stop whispering the words against his temple.

Instead of replying, Phil pulled out a canteen from somewhere and carefully helped Clint sit up a little more, before wrapping his hand around Clint’s to steady his grip as Clint tried to drink.  The water was blissfully _wet_ against Clint’s parched throat and Phil took the canteen away again far too soon.  Swallowing heavily, Clint looked up at Phil as he put the lid back on the canteen.  Since he could, Clint studied Phil’s face, noting the way Phil’s jaw was clenched and his skin was pale.  “It’s not your fault, Phil,” he said quietly.

“Your back…” Phil began, glancing at Clint before looking away again.  “They grabbed you because you were giving Natasha and me time to get away.”

“It was my choice,” Clint interrupted, because it had been.  A choice he would make again in a heartbeat if he had to.  “Don’t pretend you wouldn’t -- and _haven’t_ \-- made the same one.”

Phil’s lips curved into a small, humourless smile, but he didn’t deny it.  That was what he, Clint and Natasha did -- they paid the price of their bonds in flesh and in blood.  It was trust and love and friendship all entwined and if Clint hadn’t been taught to be wary of the word family, that was what he’d say they were.

“I still hate the fact you had to make that choice,” Phil said.  “I never like seeing you hurt, Clint.”

Clint swallowed heavily, because he could see the truth of the words in Phil’s eyes.  There had been something between them -- something different than what was between him and Natasha -- since he and Phil had first met.  They’d danced around it for so long that now, the dance was just part of who they were to each other.  Phil had always held himself back, locked that part of himself away until it slipped out in moments like this.  Why, Clint didn’t know, but it didn’t really change anything.

“I know,” he told Phil, and he did.  Good people like Phil always wanted to protect what they loved.

Before either of them could say anything else, Natasha appeared in the doorway like a ghost.  “All clear,” she called in a low voice.

Slowly, Phil eased himself out from underneath Clint and rose to his feet.  As uncomfortable as it was to lean against Phil’s tac vest and the rest of his gear, Clint immediately missed Phil’s warmth.  When Phil crouched back down, joined by Natasha on Clint’s other side, he  passed Clint a handgun, because Phil understood how vulnerable it felt to be injured and not have a weapon in his hands.  “This is going to hurt,” Phil warned.

Clint nodded.  Phil wedged a shoulder under Clint’s and hauled him to his feet, Natasha braced on his other side.  Agony flared down his back at the movement and Clint dug his fingers into Phil’s shoulder and clenched his jaw to stop the whimpers.  By the time he was on his feet, he was panting and a cold sweat had broken out across his skin.  Phil draped one of Clint’s arms across his shoulders as he took the bulk of Clint’s weight, his hand carefully positioned to support Clint and touching as few of the wounds on Clint’s back as he could.

“You good?” Phil asked him, watching him carefully to make sure he would keep on his feet.

Clint closed his eyes and let out a slow breath, before opening them again and giving Phil a short nod.  “Yeah,” he said roughly.

With Natasha ranging ahead of them, her guns drawn, Clint and Phil made their slow progress out of the facility.  In the part of his mind not consumed by the pain, Clint registered the warm, steady strength of Phil pressed against him and it gave him something to focus on.  He kept walking, because there was no other choice.  Clint hadn’t seen much of wherever he was when they’d brought him in.  He’d been drugged and blindfolded until he’d woken up strung from the ceiling in chains.  Now, however, he gazed at the bare concrete with the pipes and wires running along the walls and the dim, flickering lights.  Bodies littered their path, some shot, others lying in pools of blood.  They weren’t just Natasha’s handiwork.

Turning a corner, Clint spotted a set of rusted metal stairs leading upwards, clearly headed to higher floors and what would hopefully be the exit to the bunker.  “Oh, that’s going to be fun,” he muttered to himself.

“I’m sorry,” Phil replied.  “I can give you a shot of morphine…”

“No,” Clint said shortly.

Phil nodded.

By the time they hit the second landing, things were getting bad.  Clint was severely light-headed and he couldn’t stop his usually steady hands from shaking slightly.  The blood was running freely down his back now from his reopened wounds, soaking wetly into Clint’s pants and leaving a trail behind them.  Clint knew he should be watching Phil’s back, but it was taking all of his concentration to keep moving and stop his legs from crumbling underneath him.  His body felt like it was weighted with lead, his feet heavy as he struggled with each step.

“Stay with me, Clint,” Phil said, low and urgent, in his ear.

“Always… sir,” Clint gasped out, gritting his teeth and drawing on whatever stubbornness he had left.

Phil carefully steered Clint over to the wall and let him rest there for a moment.  Clint slumped against the achingly cold concrete, closing his eyes against a wave of nausea.  A second later, Phil’s warm fingers gripped his chin and Clint struggled to open his eyes.  “Come on, Clint,” Phil said, his eyes betraying his fear.  “Just a little further, okay?”

Clint nodded as Natasha slipped up beside him.  He caught the worried look on her face as she glanced at him.  “The door’s clear,” she told Phil.

“Good,” Phil replied on a breath.  “And the evac chopper?”

“ETA two minutes.”

Phil was tense, no matter how much he tried to hide it and Clint wanted to say something to reassure him, but the words were stuck in Clint’s throat.  Clint blinked, his vision swimming in and out of focus for a moment.  Phil glanced away, down the corridor, before he turned blue eyes full of frantic worry back to Clint.  Reaching up, he cupped Clint’s cheek.  “This is going to hurt like hell and I’m _sorry_ ,” he said fiercely.

It took a huge effort, but Clint reached up to press Phil’s hand to his cheek weakly.  “Trust… you,” he rasped.

Clint had the vague sensation of being lifted before burning, fiery pain screamed through him.  He cried out, unable to help it, before the darkness reached up and swallowed him.

*

Phil Coulson stepped into the unfortunately familiar surroundings of SHIELD Medical with no small amount of relief.  It was easy to slip down the darkened corridor and around the corner into Clint’s room without spotting anyone -- not that Phil expected anyone to stop him even if they saw him this late at night.  Clint was lying on his stomach in the bed, his back covered in thick, white bandages and Phil felt his footsteps stumble a little, even though he’d been expecting it.  He knew from the medical report that the doctors had tried to stitch up the wounds from the whippings as best as they could, but Clint’s back had been a mess.  Phil could still see the ragged cuts every time he closed his eyes.  It had been obvious that Clint had been lashed multiple times and he would forever bear the scars of that.

Clint still looked pale as he lay among the white sheets of the bed, but Phil was relieved to see he looked better than he had.  The first sight of Clint had hit Phil like a punch to the stomach.  He’d been hanging limply from the ceiling, suspended by thick chains, and for one long, gut-wrenching moment, Phil had feared the worst.  Clint had been so pale, bruises and dried blood standing out starkly all over his skin.  Natasha’s eyes had been full of pain and anger when she’d glanced at him and Phil had had to bite the inside of his cheek hard to stop himself crying out.

Clint had always been brave and impulsive, throwing himself into danger to spare those he cared about and this time had been no different.  Natasha’s cover had been blown and the smuggling ring they’d been tracking had found Phil and Jasper’s position in the van overseeing the op -- and instead of holding position, Clint had broken his own cover on the rooftop and swung into action, buying enough time for Phil, Jasper and Natasha to get out.  Only he’d gotten himself caught in the process and Phil couldn’t help the guilt over that.  He was Clint’s handler.  It was his job to bring Clint home safe and he’d failed.

“Are you going to come in, or are you just going to brood in the doorway all night?” Clint asked from the bed, his face turned towards the door, but his eyes still closed.

Phil blinked, startled out of his thoughts.  He shouldn’t have been surprised that Clint knew he was there.  Clint always did.  Clearing his throat, Phil stepped into the room.  “I would have thought Natasha would have been here,” he said, because Natasha _always_ watched over Clint when he was hurt.

Clint smiled, but he didn’t open his eyes.  “I finally bullied her into taking a shower,” he said.  “She’ll be back at some point.  Besides, I think she said something about you coming to visit anyway.”

Phil had to smile.  That sounded like Natasha.  Even if Phil hadn’t known he was going to check up on Clint until his feet had taken him in the direction of Medical, Natasha had.  He walked up to the bed, careful to keep himself on the nearest side so Clint would see him if he opened his eyes.  Before he could stop himself, Phil found himself reaching out and brushing the messy hair off Clint’s forehead.  Clint smiled faintly and pressed into the touch.  Phil wanted to say something, to break the silence that had fallen, but he had no idea what to say.  He could feel the guilt rolling in his stomach, more words of apology catching in his throat.

“Phil,” Clint said, opening his eyes.  “Stop it.”

“That’s easier said than done,” Phil said wryly.

“Do we have to go over the whole part where it was my choice again?” Clint asked pointedly.

Phil rolled his eyes.  “No,” he replied.

“Good,” Clint said, closing his eyes again.

For another long, quiet moment, Phil watched him, reminding and reassuring himself that Clint was safe and that he would heal.  “Do you want me to leave so you can get some sleep?” he asked quietly.

Clint blinked open his eyes and hesitated.  Phil didn’t quite catch the emotions that ran through that multicoloured gaze, but he did catch the way Clint hunched his shoulders instinctively, before cursing when he jostled the wounds on his back.  “Clint?” Phil asked.

“You don’t have to say yes, or anything,” Clint began softly, not quite looking Phil in the eye, “but I was kind of hoping…”

“Hoping what?” Phil prompted when Clint trailed off.

Clint fidgeted with the edge of the sheet.  “Nightmares,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.  “I just… could you stay?”

Phil nodded, catching all the words Clint wasn’t saying.  He knew what it was like to have sleep plagued with all the things that could have happened, the disorientation of waking up and not knowing what was real.  Making his decision, Phil kicked off his shoes and stripped off his jacket to hang over the back of the plastic visitors chair.  He draped his tie over it as well, before he paused and considered the logistics of what to do next.  Phil didn’t really want to cross behind Clint, knowing the other man was twitchy whenever he couldn’t see someone at his back, but there wasn’t really much space on this side of the bed.  “Can you shift over?” he asked.

“Uh…” Clint said, frowning.  Then his expression softened when he realised what Phil was trying to do.  “Yeah.  Just give me a minute.”

Slowly and carefully, Clint eased himself over to the other side of the bed.  Phil settled just as carefully beside him, helping Clint shift until they were both comfortable.  Somehow, that involved Clint laying his head in Phil’s lap and wrapping his arms around Phil’s waist.  “Better?” Phil asked, unable to keep the obvious thread of amusement from his voice.

Clint hummed in contentment, pressing lightly into the touch when Phil slid his fingers into Clint’s hair.  Clint’s weight was heavy across Phil’s lap and he felt the archer slowly relax, Clint’s eyes slipping closed again.  Maybe it was the darkened quiet of Medical late at night, or maybe it was the solid warmth of Clint underneath his hands, but Phil was finding it harder and harder to remember why he wasn’t supposed to confess how much Clint meant to him.  He knew better than to think Clint didn’t already know how Phil felt, but the words had remained unspoken for so long, Phil wasn’t sure what would happen if either of them said them out loud.  Phil wasn’t sure he could keep silent any longer, however.  He’d almost lost Clint this time, and while it was hardly their first brush with death, Phil didn’t want to lose Clint without Clint knowing _exactly_ how much he meant to Phil.

“Clint?” he asked, wondering if the other man had fallen asleep.

“Hmm?” Clint replied.

Phil had a moment to consider that perhaps SHIELD Medical wasn’t the best location for this, before he swallowed down his fears and doubts.  If he didn’t say it now, it might be weeks or months before he got his courage up again.  It almost seemed ridiculous in hindsight, but Phil had spent a long time concerned about changing things between him and Clint.  He’d known he was interested in Clint since the first time they’d met, but back then Clint had been a punk-ass kid, full of bitterness and anger and Phil hadn’t wanted to make it seem like Clint’s place in SHIELD came with conditions.  Over the years, Clint had carved out his own position and reputation and Phil had found himself thinking about saying something, but he, Clint and Natasha had made such a good team.  Phil hadn’t wanted to change things, because almost everyone in Clint’s life had pulled the rug out from underneath him just when he’d been starting to feel safe.  Phil didn’t want to be like that, but maybe he’d been doing a disservice to both of them by staying quiet.

“When the doctors discharge you, would you like to go out to dinner with me?” Phil asked.

Clint tensed underneath Phil’s hands.  “Seriously?” Clint asked in a low voice.

“Well, I…” Phil began, his stomach plummeting to his feet.  Maybe he’d been wrong after all.

In his lap, Clint shifted restlessly, before cursing as he pulled at his stitches.  Phil immediately took his hands away, thinking Clint didn’t want his touch anymore.  When Phil moved to stand, Clint’s arms tightened around his waist.  “Phil Coulson, don’t you _dare_ think about getting out of this bed,” Clint said fiercely.

Phil settled back, not sure what to think anymore.  “I want to… damn it,” Clint said, cursing again.  “This conversation would be so much better if I could look you in the face.”

Phil had to snort, because Clint’s face was awkwardly close to his groin.  “I probably should have waited to ask,” Phil said, “but I was afraid I would lose my nerve.”

Clint was silent for a beat.  “You know I’m a sure thing, right?” he said.

“Clint…” Phil started.

“Phil,” Clint countered, making another frustrated noise.

Phil smiled, unable to help it as a mix of relief and happiness rushed through him, and lightly scratched his fingernails against Clint’s scalp.  “Yeah,” he said softly.

Humming, Clint pressed his face into Phil’s stomach.  “Okay, then,” he muttered.

Settling back, Phil kept carding his fingers through Clint’s hair as the archer drifted off to sleep, offering what little comfort he could.  He knew that this conversation wasn’t over, not really.  There was still so much Clint needed to hear, about how Phil felt and how amazing he really was, but there would be time for that.  Phil would make sure of it.  He wanted so much and he was done letting his fears govern his actions.  Hopefully, one day, he could prove it to Clint and the world in front of their family and friends, but for now, Phil would treat Clint the way he deserved and sweep him off his feet.

A soft sound at the door had Phil turning his head.  Natasha stood in the doorway and she arched her eyebrow at the way Clint was sprawled across his lap.  Phil offered her a wry smile and then felt his own eyebrows rise when Natasha sent him a wink, before she walked over to take up a position at the small window, watching over them both.


	2. Chapter 2

“You know, I can hear your nervousness from the living room.”

Despite the nerves currently causing his stomach somersault, Clint looked over with a smile at Natasha’s voice.  She was his partner, his sister and his best friend and he knew that dry, slightly exacerbated tone well.  Phil had a surprisingly similar one he used on Clint all the time too.  “You can’t hear nervousness, Tash,” he replied, turning back to frown at his reflection in the mirror.  “It’s an emotion.”

Natasha snorted.  “I can definitely hear the way you’ve been pacing up and down and banging through your wardrobe,” she said.  She blinked when she saw the clothes strewn across Clint’s bed.  “I didn’t even think you owned more than two pairs of jeans.”

“I shopped,” Clint said, because it hadn’t been _that_ bad.

“You shopped,” Natasha repeated with a flat look.

“I can shop!” Clint protested.

“At least everything’s not purple,” Natasha said dryly.  She pushed off the door frame where she’d been leaning and sauntered into the room.  “Clint,” she added, catching his arm as he attempted to grab a different shirt from the bed.  “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Clint replied.

“Of course,” Natasha drawled, rolling her eyes.  “You’re always more nervous than a suspect in SHIELD custody when you’re going out on a date with Phil.”

Clint sighed.  “It’s… different this time,” he muttered.

“Different?” Natasha said, the edges of her voice sharp.

Ever since she and Phil had rescued Clint from the smugglers a month ago, Natasha had been more protective of him.  So had Phil.  Clint had borne it without any of his usual litany of jokes or complaints, because he _knew_ how close this one had been, but he _was_ getting a little sick of the constant coddling.  For the last month, Phil had been kind and considerate and a perfect gentleman, not wanting to rush and waiting for the all clear from Medical.  It was slowly driving Clint _insane_ because Phil insisted on keeping everything above the waist even when they were kissing.  In any other situation, that would have worried Clint, but he _knew_ Phil and he could see how much the other man was holding back.

The warmth of Natasha pressing against his side broke Clint out of his thoughts and he met her gaze in the mirror, pulling her closer with an arm around her shoulders.  She arched an eyebrow at him.  “Medical cleared you for sex, didn’t they?” she said.

“I think they called it ‘strenuous activity’,” Clint said dryly, “but, yeah, they did.”

Natasha smirked.  Clint scowled back at her.  “Phil hasn’t _touched_ me, Tash.  He’s been completely adamant that we wait until I get cleared and seriously, as soon as the Doc gave me that bit of paper, I wanted to race to his office and strip him out of that stupid suit.”

Her eyes dancing with amusement, Natasha poked him in the side.  “So why didn’t you?” she asked.

Clint’s scowl deepened, before he deflated with a sigh.  “He told me it wasn’t a field trip that I needed a signed permission slip for,” he said.  “He wants to cook me dinner first.”

“Waiting won’t kill you,” Natasha told him.

“It might!” Clint insisted.

Laughing softly, Natasha poked him again.  “So what’s the real reason for the nerves, Clint?” she asked quietly.

Clint huffed.  “Just… don’t laugh,” he warned.

“Promise,” Natasha said.

“It’s stupid, but now that I have the all clear and Phil _knows_ I have the all clear and shit, Tash, I’m actually in a _relationship_ …” Clint trailed off.  “I just want this to be _good_ , okay?  It feels like it matters and… will you stop with the face already, Tash?”

Immediately wiping the smile from her face, Natasha turned back to Clint’s reflection in the mirror and nodded somberly.  Clint rolled his eyes, because the whole effect was ruined by the laughter still shining clearly in her gaze.  “You need a different shirt,” she said.

“What? Why?” Clint said, because he thought he looked pretty good.

“Firstly,” Natasha replied with a playful smirk.  “That shirt will wrinkle.  I know you, Clint.  You’re not going to throw it over the back of a chair, so it’s going to spend all night on Phil’s bedroom floor.”

Clint raised his eyebrows and nodded, because that was a good point.

“Secondly,” Natasha continued.  “We need to make you look so good that Phil forgets all about dinner and immediately takes you to bed.  Or the nearest flat surface.”

Turning to face Natasha, Clint grinned.  “This is good plan, Tash,” he said.  “I like this plan.”

“I thought you might,” she replied.

*

Phil smiled at the knock at the door and told himself to stop being nervous.  Just because this was their first date since Clint had been cleared by Medical didn’t mean anything had to happen.  He knew Clint was feeling a little frustrated by the slow pace of their relationship if the way he’d burst into Phil’s office brandishing his all clear was any indication, but Phil was still reluctant to rush anything.  He and Clint had spent a long time getting to this point and Phil wanted to do things _right_.  Clint deserved that.

When Phil opened the door, he felt all his good intentions go up in smoke.  His heart gave a single, loud thump against his ribs before it started racing.  If the sight of Clint in his black combat uniform had the power to send Phil’s pulse spiking, then Clint leaning against his apartment doorway wearing a battered leather jacket and a hot smirk had the ability to vapourise Phil’s thoughts.  Worn jeans highlighted Clint’s strong legs and his black t-shirt stretched across his strong chest tight enough to leave little to the imagination.  The hint of a chain around his neck caught the light and drew Phil’s eye and Phil felt a small rush of warmth that Clint was still wearing the small pendant Phil had given him years ago.  It matched the silver rings Clint favoured when he wasn’t in the field and the effect was more than enough to send a punch of lust to Phil’s gut.

“Hey,” Clint greeted.

“Clint,” Phil replied, his mouth dry.

Clint waited until Phil stepped back before he slipped into the apartment, deliberately brushing against Phil as he did.  It seemed Clint wasn’t exactly trying for subtlety.  “Hungry?” Phil asked as he shut the door.

Somehow, Clint’s smirk turned even more devilish.  “You could say that,” he said, his eyes sliding appreciatively up and down Phil’s body.

Phil arched an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything as Clint sauntered forward.  As soon as he was close enough, Clint slid his arms around Phil’s waist and tugged him forward until they were standing flush from chest to thigh.  “Phil,” Clint said, his hands pulling Phil’s grey henley out of his jeans and slipping underneath.  Then his eyes flicked towards the kitchen and he hesitated for a split second.  “We can reheat dinner later, right?”

Keeping his hands off Clint for the last month had almost _killed_ him and Phil couldn’t see any reason why he couldn’t finally touch Clint the way he wanted to.  Leaning forward as his hands settled on Clint’s hips, Phil gave into temptation and caught Clint’s mouth in a slow, thorough kiss.  Like always, the press of Clint’s lips against his stole the breath from his lungs and one of Clint’s strong hands slid up to cradle Phil’s jaw and neck as Clint deepened the kiss.  Phil hummed, pressing closer as he lost himself to the addicting heat that flared between them.

When they eventually pulled apart, panting slightly, a flush had stolen across Clint’s cheeks and his eyes were dark and hungry.  Phil had never seen a more attractive sight in his life.  “The lasagna is already cooked.  I was waiting for you before I heated it up.  There’s nothing for dinner that’s going to spoil,”  Phil said softly, nuzzling at Clint’s jaw.

“That’s sneaky,” Clint said appreciatively, his words ending on a gasp when Phil scraped his teeth over the skin of Clint’s throat.  “And here I was convinced you were determined to feed me.”

“I’ll feed you,” Phil replied, leaning in to speak the words against Clint’s mouth.  “I just have no problem working up an appetite first.”

“Like I said,” Clint growled, nipping at Phil’s lower lip.  “ _Sneaky_.”

“Just hopeful,” Phil muttered between kisses.  “Besides, if you wanted me to be able to concentrate on dinner, you shouldn’t have turned up looking good enough to eat.”

Clint groaned at the corniness, but his gorgeous eyes were bright with laughter.  “Aren’t the horrible lines supposed to be my thing?” he asked.

Phil arched into the touch when Clint lightly scraped his nails down Phil’s back under his shirt and started manhandling them both in the direction of Phil’s bedroom.  Phil didn’t resist -- he just pulled Clint closer for another slow, deep kiss and let himself be guided.  “You might not have noticed, Clint,” he gasped out, tilting his head as Clint moved to trail kisses down his neck, “but I’m not exactly smooth when it comes to my personal life.”

Clint lifted his head and Phil expected a bad pun or two, but Clint’s eyes were serious.  “Have I mentioned lately that I’m a sure thing?” he said, leaning in to gently bite the hinge of Phil’s jaw.  “Besides, I like it.  It proves you’re not perfect at everything.”

Phil wanted to protest that he wasn’t perfect at _anything_ , but Clint chose that moment to strip off his leather jacket and the words died in Phil’s throat.  The movement made the muscles in Clint’s sculpted arms flex and shift and Phil had to resist the urge to lean down and _lick_.  Clint gave a low, rough chuckle.  “I _knew_ I caught you staring a couple of times on the range,” he said.

Phil blinked at him in disbelief.  “A _couple_ of times?” he said.  “Watching you on the range is an exercise in extreme willpower, because it makes me want to shove you…”

Clint cut off the rest of Phil’s words with a fierce kiss.  Backing Phil up against the wall, he caged Phil in with an arm braced on either side of Phil’s head.  Phil was vaguely aware they’d made it to his bedroom, before one of Clint’s strong thighs slid between his, rubbing against his hardening dick.  Heat and lust surged through him and Phil sucked in a sharp breath as Clint bent to suck a mark on his throat high enough that a shirt would never cover it, his fingers clenching on Clint’s hips.  When Clint moved to pull away again, Phil tightened his grip to stop him.   Clint smirked in reply, before he leaned back to strip off his t-shirt, revealing golden skin and firm muscles, cut across by the faint marks of old scars.  Phil wanted to lean forward and learn every dip and ridge of that smooth expanse of chest.  He let his eyes trail over Clint’s skin, not quite believing that Clint was standing there, half naked in his bedroom, before his gaze was caught by the silver of Clint’s necklace.  Before Phil could stop himself, his fingers were reaching out to trace the two arrows crossed over the stylized shield.

“Mistress of the bow, Ruler of arrows,” Clint said with a small, crooked smile.  “Symbol of the Egyptian Goddess Nieth.”

It was impossible to stop the answering smile as Clint quoted what Phil had told him when he’d presented the pendant to the archer about a year after he’d become Clint’s handler.  “I almost didn’t give it to you,” Phil told him softly, glancing up to meet his eyes.  “I was half convinced you’d take one look at it and guess all my secrets.”

For a moment, the corners of Clint’s mouth pulled down into a small frown of confusion as his sharp gaze searched Phil’s face.  Then he blinked, his eyes going wide.  An open, raw look dawned across Clint’s face and he reached out a hesitant hand, his fingers tracing reverently along Phil’s cheekbone.  Like most things between them, Phil didn’t have to speak the words to know Clint understood what he didn’t yet have the courage to say out loud.  The slow, sweet smile that spread across Clint’s face hit Phil somewhere deep inside his chest.  He leaned in for a kiss and just like Clint’s smile, it was slow and sweet.  Phil shivered as Clint settled his weight more firmly against him, Clint’s hand moving up to cradle his jaw again.  Phil wanted to slide his hands up Clint’s back, to explore the strong muscles capable of drawing that bow over and over again, but he was reluctant to hurt Clint’s still healing skin.  Clint made an impatient sound, pressing closer, and his other hand reached down to try to shove Phil’s shirt out of the way.  “Phil,” he growled.  “I want to feel your hands on me.   _Please_.”

Giving in to the rough plea, Phil slid a hand up Clint’s spine, gently tracing the edges of Clint’s new scars with his fingertips.  The firm muscles underneath his palms bunched and shifted as Clint pressed into his hands.  Phil let his touches grow firmer and Clint dropped his head, his hot breath brushing against the skin of Phil’s neck.  “Do you know how long I’ve wanted this?” Clint’s voice was low and hoarse in his ear and Phil couldn’t help the shiver that went down his spine.  “To feel your hands on my skin?” Clint said, pulling back to watch Phil’s face.  “ _Years_.  I’ve wanted you for _years_ , Phil, and now I finally get to have you.”

The admission hit Phil with a punch of lust and he felt dazed, like his brain couldn’t process the words.  Smirking, Clint fisted his hand in Phil’s rumpled henley and started walking backwards in the direction of Phil’s large bed.  Clint’s callouses scraped against Phil’s skin as Clint tugged his shirt up and over his head.  Clint gave a strangled groan, his eyes almost burning as they trailed over Phil’s skin like a physical touch, scorching his already fevered skin.  That sharp, hot gaze travelled over every inch of Phil’s skin, lingering on the dark ink of his tattoo.

“Jesus,” Clint rasped, his eyes never leaving the tattoo on Phil’s upper arm as he stepped close again.

Phil wasn’t sure what the fascination was about -- the Ranger emblem was a mark of a past he was proud of, but he hadn’t been a soldier in a very long time.  Some of his confusion must have shown on his face, because Clint started talking.  “That tattoo has been taunting me for the last month,” he growled.  “I never knew… and then we were dating and you wore _t-shirts_ and I could see the edge of this ink curving over your skin… but you never let me _see_ , Phil.”

The words and Clint’s husky voice wove around him and curled beneath his skin, and Phil was trapped, unable to look away from everything that was flickering across Clint’s face.  “All I had was my imagination,” Clint continued, trailing his hands down Phil’s chest.  “And I used it.  I’d lie there in my bed at night, imagining what it would look like.  Wondering if you’d like it if I traced it with my tongue.  Wishing you were there with me so I could find out.”

Phil’s breath caught at the combination of the words echoing through his head and Clint leaning down to lick at the lines of his tattoo.  He felt as if Clint had set a fire underneath his skin and he was going to burn up from the inside out.  “Clint,” he ground out, grabbing at Clint and urging him up so Phil could pull him in for a kiss.

It was almost embarrassing how hard he was already, or it would have been if Clint didn’t look just as hungry and desperate.  Clint’s hands fumbled with Phil’s belt as the kiss turned hot and dirty.  Phil caught Clint’s hands and pulled away from the kiss with a great deal of effort.  “Boots,” he gasped out.  “You need to take your boots off.”

“Right, yeah,” Clint agreed, but he leaned in to catch Phil’s mouth for another kiss first.

While Clint sat down heavily on the bed and grappled with his laces, Phil kicked off his own shoes and stripped out of his jeans, but left his underwear on.  If he didn’t, it would be so easy to lose himself to the heat building between them and the mad scramble towards climax.  Phil didn’t want that, not this time -- he and Clint had taken so long to get to this point that Phil wanted to savour it now that they were finally here.

He caught Clint when the other man surged back to his feet and helped Clint kick off his jeans before pulling him into another hungry kiss, because Clint was flushed and almost-naked and _gorgeous_ and Phil just wasn’t strong enough to resist.  Clint ground their hips together, the thin fabric of their underwear doing little to hide the hard length of Clint’s cock sliding against his.  Hooking a leg behind Phil’s and drawing a low groan from both of them, Clint leaned backwards, sending them both tumbling onto the bed, gasping and grinning.  Looking down at Clint spread out beneath him, Phil’s heart give a long, slow thump.  A flush covered Clint’s chest and those glorious eyes were hazy with pleasure.  Clint looked perfect sprawled across Phil’s dark sheets and Phil would willingly do anything he had to to keep this amazing man in his bed and in his life.

Clint propped himself up on his elbows and smirked.  “Are you just going to stay there all night?” he asked, still breathing a little heavily.  “I can guarantee it’ll be a lot more fun if you come closer.”

Arching an eyebrow in response, Phil shifted until he was leaning over Clint.  Dipping his head, he brushed his lips over Clint’s, pulling back slightly when Clint arched up to kiss him.  “Guarantee, huh?” Phil whispered.

“Uh huh,” Clint said against his mouth, arching up again and pressing a hand to the side of Phil’s jaw and neck to stop him escaping.

Giving in to the kiss, Phil slowly slid a hand up Clint’s stomach and chest, the muscles jumping and tightening under his palm.  Breaking away from the kiss, Phil skimmed his hand tauntingly down Clint’s rib cage, before leaning down to lick a stripe down the strong column of Clint’s neck.  Clint arched into Phil’s touches, his fingers biting into the skin of Phil’s shoulders.  Shifting, Phil  nipped playfully at Clint’s collarbone, then moved lower, tasting the salt of the sweat on Clint’s skin.  Clint gasped, his hips jerking as Phil trailed kisses down Clint’s stomach to the edge of Clint’s boxer-briefs.

“So beautiful,” Phil whispered against the skin of Clint’s stomach.

“Phil,” Clint said on a groan.

“Clint?” Phil asked, moving up to mouth at one of Clint’s nipples.

Clint arched closer, his fingers sliding into Phil’s hair.  “Please,” he rasped.  “I want… I _need_ you to fuck me.”

Phil stilled his stroking hands, looking up at the way Clint was sprawled across the bed, flushed and sweaty and gorgeous.  “Clint, we don’t…” he began.

“Yeah, no,” Clint said and Phil had a moment to admire the way Clint’s stomach muscles clenched, before Clint surged upwards, forcing Phil back.  “I need to feel you,” Clint muttered, biting at Phil’s shoulder.  “I’ll fuck you next time if you want, but _please_ … I need…”

Phil had never been any good at denying Clint what he really wanted.  “Yes,” he said, meeting Clint’s lips.  “But I’m going to hold you to that.”

Clint shuddered.  “Yes, okay, _good_ ,” he growled.

Muttering curses, Clint wiggled out of his underwear, before repeating the same struggle with Phil’s.  Phil used the opportunity of Clint’s distraction to also reach up and grab the lube and the strip of condoms he’d put in his bedside drawer earlier and tossed them down onto the bed beside them.  As soon as Phil was done, Clint grabbed him by the shoulders and flipped them both, Clint’s strong thighs straddling his hips.  Phil groaned at the hot press of Clint’s naked skin against his, his hands sliding up Clint’s thighs and feeling the flex of the muscles underneath his palms.  Dipping his head, Clint braced his hands on either side of Phil’s head and leaned in for a kiss.  Phil trailed his fingers higher, gliding up Clint’s strong back and over his shoulders, before sliding his hands into Clint’s hair when Clint started pressing kisses down his chest.

“Clint,” Phil gasped out.  “Not that I mind where this is going, but I thought you mentioned something about me fucking you?”

Groaning, Clint glanced up, his eyes dark.  “Shit, Phil, don’t say things like that when my brain cells are already melting,” he said.

“I thought you worked best under pressure?” Phil replied, gasping again when Clint bit at the skin over his ribs.

“Oh, I’ll show you how good I am _under pressure_ ,” Clint growled back, his eyes lit with challenge.

Rising up, Clint braced one palm on Phil’s chest, his other swiping something off the bed.  When Phil heard the familiar sound of Clint flipping the lid off the lube, his thoughts shuddered to a halt.  Phil could only watch, transfixed, as Clint’s hand disappeared behind him and he caught his lower lip between his teeth.  Clint’s eyes flickered closed for a moment as his forearm flexed and Phil felt his breath freeze in his lungs as he worked out _exactly_ what those nimble fingers were doing.  “Clint…” he said, his voice strained.

Clint smirked, watching him back with heavy lidded eyes and Phil couldn’t keep still anymore.  Surging upwards, he curled his hands Clint’s shoulders and crashed their lips together.  Grabbing the lube, Phil slicked up his own fingers, shifting so he could press the tip of one in beside Clint’s.  It was hot and tight and when Phil slid his finger in further, Clint groaned Phil’s name against his mouth.  Slipping his own fingers out, Clint clutched at Phil and let Phil stretch him open.  “So good,” he breathed, his head dropping back and exposing the long column of his throat.

Phil leaned closer to nip at the skin, savouring every low moan and soft cry he could draw from Clint until Clint was unashamedly thrusting back against Phil’s hand.  “I’m ready… so damn ready,” Clint said with a hiss, bucking his hips.

Together, they somehow managed to roll a condom onto Phil’s leaking cock and Phil had to squeeze his eyes shut and bite back a whimper at Clint’s touch.  Leaning backwards, Clint pulled Phil with him until he was sprawled across the sheets again, Phil braced above him.  Slicking up his cock with more lube, Phil took a moment to suck in a breath before he shifted, nudging against Clint’s hole.  Clint moaned appreciatively as Phil pushed in slowly, his eyes locking with Phil’s.  Spreading his legs wider, Clint hooked his ankle around the back of Phil’s thigh, urging him closer until Phil was all the way inside, his balls resting against Clint’s ass.  The heat of Clint’s body was almost too much and for a moment, all Phil could do was rest his forehead against Clint’s and pant, desperately hanging on to the tattered remains of his control.  “Shit,” he muttered.

Sliding a hand into Phil’s hair, Clint pulled him down for a messy kiss as he rolled his hips, clearly trying to get Phil to move.  Phil began to thrust slowly, feeling Clint relax around him as they both groaned at the sensation.  Reaching down, he urged Clint’s leg a little higher and Clint arched his back with a gasp as the angle changed.  Phil barely had a second to feel smug, before Clint wrapped his other leg around Phil, ankles crossing at the small of Phil’s back and snapped his hips forward to meet Phil’s.  The movement tore a low, raw sound from Clint that shuddered down Phil’s spine.  “More.  Harder,” Clint demanded, his voice gravelly.  “ _Phil_.”

Bracing himself, Phil gave Clint what he wanted, his movements speeding up and turning rougher as Clint’s fingers dug into Phil’s skin hard enough to leave bruises.  “You’re so beautiful,” Phil muttered, unable to stop the words bubbling up at the sight of Clint so wrecked with pleasure underneath him.  “Coming apart for me… so tight, so gorgeous…”

“Phil,” Clint ground out, his back arching as he met each stroke.  “Phil, _please_.”

Clint’s hard cock was trapped between them and smearing pre-come on Phil’s stomach as he thrust in deep.  Clint groaned again, pulling Phil down for another kiss, this one hard and hungry.  Phil felt the beginnings of his orgams cracke up his spine like lightening, sweat trailing down his skin.  “Clint,” he said, pulling back.  “I’m going to…”

“ _Yes_ ,” Clint growled back.

Phil snaked a hand between them, determined to get Clint off before he came.  Clint’s cock was hot and heavy in his hand, Clint grunting softly as Phil closed around him with a firm grip.  Normally, Phil would have been proud that it only took a few twisting strokes before Clint arched, shaking apart as he came wetly between them, but the sensation was too much, too perfect, for Phil to do anything more than fly over the edge with him.  Phil thrust forward, his orgasm crashing through him and his vision whiting out, Clint’s name on his lips.

Sagging forwards as he came down slowly, Phil gasped for breath for a moment, his limbs weak and his nerve-endings still tingling.  He pulled free with a grunt, Clint’s strong arms catching him and tightening around him as Phil lowered himself to collapse on the bed beside Clint.  When Phil finally felt as if he could move again, he rolled over slightly, removing the condom and tossed it towards the bin as Clint cleaned them both half-heartedly with a corner of the sheet.  Settling back down again, Phil curled his arms protectively around Clint, Clint’s fingers trailing over his sides and back, before Clint threw a leg over his to keep him close.  Phil idly carded one hand through Clint’s hair, happy to just lie there for a while and watch the soft joy in Clint’s eyes spread across Clint’s face.

“Worth the wait?” Phil said finally, his voice quietly teasing, before dipping his head to press a soft kiss to Clint’s lips.

“Yes,” Clint replied seriously, his thumb sliding along Phil’s cheekbone and Phil knew they weren’t just talking about the sex anymore.

When the sweat began to cool and prickle uncomfortably on their skin, Phil dragged the blankets up and over them.  Clint snuggled closer with a contented hum, pressing his face into the space between Phil’s neck and shoulder.  One of his arms wormed its way underneath Phil’s pillow as he tangled his fingers with Phil’s with the other hand.  “Comfortable?” Phil asked him dryly when Clint had finished squirming.

Phil felt Clint smile against his skin before Clint hummed happily in reply.  Huffing, Phil dropped a kiss onto Clint’s head and let eyes drift shut.  Hunger or the need for a shower would no doubt rouse them sooner or later, but for now Phil was more than happy to enjoy having Clint in his arms.  His heart skipped a familiar beat at the idea of waking up with Clint still in his bed, a warm feeling he was almost ready to name spreading through his chest.

“Phil,” Clint muttered warningly.  “Do I have to tell you to stop thinking so hard again?”

“No,” Phil replied quietly, his thumb stroking soothingly over the back of Clint’s hand.  “I’m…”  He trailed off, ‘good’ suddenly seeming grossly inadequate to describe how he felt.

“You’re what?” Clint asked, propping his chin on Phil’s shoulder so he could watch Phil’s face as Phil blinked open his eyes.

Phil smiled.  “I’m not sure,” he said.  “I’m not sure there’s a word big enough to explain how happy I am right now.”

Clint groaned loudly, but Phil caught the faint blush colouring his cheeks.  “You’re an unrepentant sap, aren’t you?” Clint said.

“Completely,” Phil agreed.  He shifted to stroke his fingers down the side of Clint’s face, marvelling at the way Clint leaned into the touch.  “I’m your sap now.”

Grinning, Clint ducked his head to kiss him.  “Yes,” he said.  “You are.”

 

Fin


End file.
